


What Doesn’t Killl You

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, Lactation Kink, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Written and never completed, for a prompt that basically wanted this.John is killed in a hunt when the boys are young and Dean soon finds that running scams isn't enough to feed and keep a roof over Sammy's head so he turns to prostitution. Dean is an omega and he isn't always careful which leads to him getting pregnant for the first time when he's only 12 years old. That's when he finds that there's a lot of money in pregnant sex. Men want to touch him and his belly, drink his milk, feel the baby, knot him without worrying about getting him pregnant. Families are also willing to pay top dollar for an omega baby. It's a pretty good gig. Hopefully after a few pregnancies Dean will be able to keep one of his own children. Sam doesn't understand why he never gets to meet his little nieces and nephews.I never finished this and never will, but some people over at the Livejournal Supernatural kink meme enjoyed what I’d written so far, so I thought I would post and orphan rather than just delete forever as I’m spring cleaning my writing.Warnings for extremely underage prostitution and Mpreg.





	What Doesn’t Killl You

As soon as Sam was fast asleep, wrapped up in every blanket and bit of spare clothing they had, well hidden behind cardboard boxes in the abandoned storefront they were using tonight, Dean set out to go earn. 

He'd seen it happen on the streets all the time. It didn't look that hard. A car rolled up to an Omega, or a Beta boy or girl. They'd get in and then a short while later, they'd get out, richer by fifty or sixty bucks. Dean hadn't walked the streets before, but he'd prostituted himself plenty for Sam's safety before. At least this way, he'd get his hands on the thing that could buy that safety directly this way. Money. Money meant good food and hot meals. Money meant warm clothes. Money meant maybe they could even find a heated place to stay. He wasn't sure how he'd work out renting a room, but the one thing he'd seen in his short time on the streets was that nearly anything was obtainable if you had enough money. 

It was only a couple of blocks to the place where the Omega streetwalkers gathered. Dean positioned himself sort of on the edge of the area, not wanting to encroach on anyone's territory. He'd seen the kind of fights that could break out if an Omega hooker thought that someone was trying to take over his territory. Dean knew that all the other Omega hookers were bigger and older than him and could hand him his ass just like that. They were hard looking. They didn't seem like they'd be moved by his story of needing to provide for his little Alpha brother. Dean was afraid he wouldn't get noticed even. The other Omegas were all dressed up. They had jeans with sparkles on them and bright colored t-shirts with deep, deep v-necks. Or vests with nothing on underneath. Dean was wearing the same pair of jeans he'd walked away from foster care in, not washed since, a t-shirt he'd stolen out of a Salvation Army donation bin and a flannel shirt with a blown out elbow. 

Even so, a few minutes later, a car pulled up near where Dean was standing. He ran his hand through his hair, hoped he wasn't too dirty. He'd gotten a chance to wash him and Sam a little in the public library washroom this afternoon, but a lot could have happened since then. It didn't seem to bother the man. He looked Dean up and down. 

"You're Omega?" the man asked, doubtfully. Dean tugged his collar away from his neck and bared his throat, showing, even in the dim street light, the latent claiming mark on his neck. All Omegas had them. When he was claimed and mated, it would turn scarlet red, but for now, it was a raised white patch near his right ear. When the guy was satisfied, he asked, "How much for your pussy?"

Dean checked the guy out. His car had been new around the time Dean was born, but it was a big Buick and had been a nice car when it was new. He kind of reminded Dean of a school principal he'd had many years ago in a different state. He had a thick head of white hair and wore a yellow golf shirt and chinos. If a man was planning to kill you, he wouldn't wear a yellow golf shirt, would he? He wore a gold or gold colored watch and a wedding ring, even though he smelled of Alpha. His mating mark was white too- he was obviously married to a Beta woman. 

"Sixty," Dean said and when the guy's eyes widened at what he obviously thought was a bargain, Dean added, "But it's two hundred if you want to knot me."

"I don't have time for that. I have to get back home. I just have to take the edge off, you know. I love my wife, but she's no Omega."

So Dean climbed into the car. It certainly didn't seem like a murder car. It didn't smell, didn't have weird brown spatters anywhere. The man pulled around the corner into an unlit alley and parked the car. 

Married Guy grabbed Dean's hand and mashed it onto his dick. Dean picked up that little clue about what the guy wanted him to do easily enough and he rubbed the guy's dick through the chino fabric, hoping he could get him off that way and neither of them would have to take their pants off. Dean almost got his hope. The guy started breathing heavy and there was a lump forming at the base of his dick. There was a hitch in the guy's breathing, then suddenly, he pushed Dean's hand away and said, "You're not getting off that easy. I'm paying you for your pussy, I'm getting your pussy."

"You got a condom, Mister?" Dean asked and Married Guy just looked at him as if he'd asked the dumbest question that could be asked. Dean thought about just crawling out of the car. The doors weren't locked. He could probably get out of the car in seconds, before Married Guy could even react. But then he thought about Sam sleeping on a nearly empty stomach in a vacant storefront a few blocks away. Sixty bucks would buy enough food to fill their belly and maybe even get a scummy room at one of the no-tell motels that lined the main strip near here. It would be more money than Dean had had at once, ever. 

So Dean just undid his belt and pulled his pants off. He made sure to put them between him and the door, just in case he'd need to take off suddenly. The Buick had a big bench seat up front, so the guy just scooted over, from behind the wheel, and undid his pants just enough to free his cock. Dean awkwardly scrambled up onto the guy's lap, then impaled himself onto the guy's raging hard-on. Dean just about screamed from how bad it hurt- nearly as bad as the first time last year that Mr. Blake had stuck his dick into Dean's little pussy. 

The guy groaned, and said, "Oh, God. So good. So tight. Nothing like Omega pussy."

He thrust in and out a few times and before long, he was working hard on grinding out an orgasm. Just a few minutes and he was spasming underneath Dean, who could feel the wet, hot come flood into his pussy. No man had ever come inside Dean before. Mr. Blake had always been very careful not to come inside Dean. 

Married Guy huffed a few minute after he came, catching his breath, enjoying his afterglow. Then he started digging for his wallet. He tossed Dean a couple of shabby looking twenties. 

"We agreed on sixty," Dean said, wishing he had a knife on him. He had a butterfly knife before, when his dad was still alive. As it was, Dean only had a piece of sharp metal he'd found in a vacant lot and wrapped up part of with rags for a sort of handle, sharpened the other bit. A shank basically. And it was in his pants pocket. Luckily, the guy sighed, dug in his wallet and pulled out another twenty. He tossed it at Dean and said, "Get out, I've got to get going home."

Dean thought he would feel dirty and maybe he did, but he tamped that down as hard as he could and all he noticed feeling was pride that he'd done it. He'd gotten sixty bucks. There was a KFC open late not three blocks from the alley and Dean had marched in there and bought the biggest bucket they sold, along with mashed potatoes and gravy. He sat down on a curb underneath a burned out street light and ate until he was almost going to be sick. Then he forced himself to to stop, but only because he needed to save the rest for Sammy. He didn't remember feeling this full, ever. It just felt so good to eat almost as much as he wanted that he lingered out a little while longer, just feeling food stupid.

He made his way back to the squat and found Sam, who was awake, of course. But they'd gone over what Sam was supposed to do when Dean was gone: stay put, stay quiet and stay still. He'd done a good job of it this time but tears were rolling down his face, silently. 

"Where were you, Dean?"

"Just out getting us some real food, bitch," Dean said, making sure that Sam noticed the big paper bucket of chicken. Sam didn't ask what Dean did to get the money for the chicken. Dean figured he probably knew. 

Sam never asked what Dean did when he went out on his own at night. Not even years and years later. 

 

Soon, Dean had a big bundle of rolled up twenties, big enough for an apartment. He'd been reading the ads in discarded newspapers. He knew that places wanted something called a deposit and he had enough for one. But an eleven year old couldn't just walk up to someplace and rent an apartment, even if he could pay for it. Dean's worry about how they were going to rent a real place without a grown up was answered when they found the crazy man. His name was Clarence, he said. 

"I'm an angel," he'd said, the first night he'd wandered into the abandoned house where Dean and Sam had been staying. He said it as if it explained everything, then he added, "I'm your angel, Dean."

Which, that was kind of weird because Dean hadn't told the crazy man his name, but Dean figured that Clarence had just been hanging around quietly before he revealed himself and he'd heard Sam say it. 

"Maybe you can fly right on out of here, Clarence," Dean had said as he pulled Sam behind him. 

"I should say, I was an angel. My grace is gone. My wings are gone. No flying," Clarence said, as he hunkered down awkwardly on the floor near Dean. He wore an assortment of grubby layers, flannels, t-shirts, much like Dean was given to wearing himself, but his clothes were even worse for the wear than Dean's. "You wouldn't remember me yet, would you, Dean? Maybe we never meet at all in this when. Or at least we weren't supposed to have met. When I was cast out from heaven, I was set adrift in time and possibilities. I've been wandering a year, looking for some sign of you. I admit, I'm surprised to find you at age eleven, but glad to find you at all."

Then behind him, Sam piped up, "It's okay, Dean, I've been praying really hard for God to send someone to help us. He sent an angel."

"He's not an angel!" Dean said angrily. He didn't believe in God and he didn't believe in Angels. If there was a God and Angels, where had they been the night his mother had died in that fire? Where had they been on the night his father had left and just never come back? Or when his Dad's torn up body had been found in a state park the next state over two weeks later? "He's just a crazy person, Sam."

"No, I am perfectly sane," Clarence said. "I have been insane, confined to a hospital for the mentally ill, but I am not crazy now. I didn't come to help you either. I was looking for you in hopes you could help me, but I can see that you're in no state to help me."

Dean couldn't have said why he thought he could trust the crazy man. It just made no sense, but he kind of did. The man's eyes were soft, confused, but he looked at Dean with kindness in his deep, blue eyes.

"Maybe not," Dean said. "But at least I can feed you dinner."

Dean gestured to the remains of the fried chicken dinner he and Sam had been eating and were mostly finished with. There were a couple of the dark pieces they didn't like and some scrapings of mashed potatoes and the coleslaw that neither of them liked, but that Sam forced himself to eat some of, because he'd believed that crap in school about how eating vegetables was good for you. Clarence attacked the leftover food hungrily, bolting it down as quick as he could, as if he was afraid that it was going to be taken away from him before he could finish. 

"Thank you," Clarence said, after he'd gnawed the last bone down to bare. "I find the pangs of hunger to be both distressing and tiresome."

"Now, there's something you can do for us," Dean said. It was a night in October. The temperature was rapidly dropping down to freezing and the wind was starting to rattle the windows of the abandoned house, coming right in through the couple that were broken. Dean revealed his plan, brought out a small, grubby wad of money. He always made sure no one was around when he brought out his big wad of money to add to it, and he kept a separate, smaller bundle of cash to pay for food and such. 

"If you have enough money for a room, why are you staying here?" Clarence asked. 

"Because nobody is going to rent a room to an eleven year old," Dean explained, patiently. 

"Oh!" Clarence said. "Of course. In this time and place, you're a child, though, may I say that you do not appear very much to act like one."

Dean didn't remember ever being a child, but the world around him insisted on treating him like one. "So, are you going to help us get a room or not?"

Less than an hour later, they were in a motel room. There were two beds and though there were kind of funky stains on the floor and the place smelled like cigarette smoke and other, worse things, they were all indoors and warm. Dean locked Sam into the bathroom with him and made him strip down all of his layers. He couldn't give Sam a bath. The bathroom only had a mildew-y shower stall, but he made Sam wash himself thoroughly for the first time since they'd left the Blake's months ago. It was a shame Sam had to get back dressed into the same dirty clothes he'd been wearing, but they didn't have anything else. Maybe tomorrow they could go to the laundromat. 

Then Dean washed himself in the shower. Even though he scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin was red and raw, he didn't feel clean. He decided it was because of the mildewed walls of the shower stall and gave up. He dried off and dressed back into the clothes he'd been wearing. Then he let them both out of the bathroom. Clarence was just sitting on the edge of the bed, watching something dirty on the TV. 

"Jesus, you don't watch that with kids around," Dean said, meaning Sam, not himself. Thankfully, it had just been the free preview and went back to the screen that asked you to click in the code to order the movie. 

Clarence shook himself then opened his eyes a little, as if just realizing what he'd been doing. "Of course. I wasn't thinking about you being children."

Sam yawned and Dean tucked him into the other bed and before long, Sam was fast asleep and Dean was torn. This Clarence joker, he felt, for some unknown reason, that he could trust him, but even as his gut was telling him he could trust the blue-eyed man, his thoughts were telling him he was crazy to do that. But Dean really needed to go out and earn some money. He only did it a couple of times a night, most nights. Maybe just even once. He didn't want to come to the attention of any crazies, or worse, any of the pimps. So he limited his exposure, but they could burn through money awfully fast just eating, and he was trying to save up for a real place, not just a room like this. He needed to go out and earn at least a little every night.

Clarence seemed so harmless. Dean really needed to go out. 

"I've got to go out and earn some money," Dean said. "You earn your keep and watch Sam. If you hurt him in any way, I will kill you."

He meant it. He had his shank with him. It'd be easy enough to drive it into the guy's gut. He knew he could do it. Knew he had it in him to kill if he had to do it to protect Sam. Dean went out. He had, for him, a good night. He made one guy spill in his pants before either of them had hardly got past hello. Maybe he didn't get his full sixty, he got twenty for about thirty seconds of groping. The other guy, he paid the full two hundred for knotting, with the extra fifty for not having to use one of the condoms that Dean had started to carry. Only, because Dean's pussy wasn't turned on, it didn't swell and lock that knot in place. Even though he really into it, the guy was knotted only fifteen, twenty minutes before his cock deflated. 

As the guy tucked the bundle of twenties and tens into Dean's hand, he said, "You are one hot little bitch. You are going to look so hot when you get a little older and you get knocked up."

He didn't have to worry about that for years, though, Dean thought. He shoved the bills into his jeans pocket and tried to get out of the car quickly. This guy was kind of creepy. 

"Are you on that corner every night?" the guy asked. 

"I'm around here and there," Dean said, noncommittally, not wanting this guy to come looking for him again. The two-hundred and fifty was good, good money, but Dean really hadn't like the way that the guy kept saying things like, "gonna put fill you up with my pups" and that he was a good breeding bitch.

"Well, maybe I'll see around, here and there," the guy said, just before he closed his car door on Dean. 

When Dean got back to their motel room, Sam was up again, but still in his own bed, the covers pulled to his chin and Clarence was on the other bed. They were both watching TV, not porn again, but MASH, which wasn't really a show for a six year old to see, but at least it wasn't porn. They were showing a surgery scene when Dean walked in, but at least you didn't see much, just little bits of blood every now and then. Clarence had been telling some kind of story over the sound of the television but all Dean heard was him saying, "Then my big brother said, don't step on that fish. Big plans for that fish."

Sam laughed, though whether it was at the TV or Clarence's story, Dean didn't know, but it it pissed him off, because he could keep Sam safe and fed now, but nothing in months, years maybe, had made Sam laugh and that should have been something he got to do.

"Did you wake him up?" Dean demanded of Clarence.

"He didn't, Dean," Sam said. "I had a nightmare and woke up on my own so Clarence got me a glass of water and told me stories about the beginning of the world, then we watched TV."

"Well, you go back to bed," Dean said, sharply. "You need your sleep."

Then he switched the TV until he found an old sit-com so stupid that no one could object to a six year old seeing it and he sat down on the bed next to Sam. Eventually, his baby brother drifted off to sleep again, looking so sweetly innocent that Dean knew it was worth it. The creepy guy and his knot and his breeding talk. The guy so excited to have sex with an Omega that he creamed his pants. So long as it was Dean taking on those guys, sullying himself with them, and not Sam doing it, it was worth it. 

Clarence was obviously champing at the bit to say something to Dean, but he waited until Sam was fast asleep to say, "Dean, is it really necessary for you to engage in intercourse for money?" 

Dean wasn't sure what intercourse was, but he could kind of figure it out from context. Clarence was asking why he'd gone out whoring. "You got a better idea how an eleven year old can earn enough money to take care of his brother and himself? And a big, dumb ex-angel."

"Doesn't your society have means to protect those too young to take care of themselves?"

"I'm doing just fine," Dean said, defensively. "You talking about foster care? Like the way our last foster father wanted Sam to kiss his pee-pee. No thanks, we're better off on our own."

"I just want to help you, Dean," Clarence said.

"You want to help me?" Dean asked. "You try keeping your trap shut and let me do what I need to do to take care of Sam."

Clarence didn't protest what Dean did to earn money any more after that. Somehow, he kept hanging around. He watched Sam while Dean went out to earn the money to support them all. Mostly, he was pretty useless. He could just about manage his own body, like get it to the toilet on time to go pee, and keep it fed. But at least Dean wasn't leaving Sam alone at night any more. In a few days, Dean stole some better looking clothes for Clarence from the donation bin, and shop lifted a pack of cheap razors from the drug store. With Clarence looking at least a little better, they went out to find an apartment. 

Most landlords wouldn't even talk to them once they got a look at the three of them. It didn't matter that Dean had cash and a grown up. Dean didn't understood what exactly the landlords were looking for, but it obviously took more than some money and a grown up to get an apartment. Maybe it was that Clarence kept saying really inappropriate things, though it didn't help any when Dean told him to just shut up and he'd do all the talking. Finally, at the end of a long week of fruitless looking, they came up to a really crummy looking brick building. It looked to be about a few bricks short of just plain tumbling down. When they talked to the building owner, she was an old lady who smoked constantly, like she lit her new cigarettes with the butt end of the one she'd just finished smoking. Her voice was as deep and craggy as Clarence's. The hallways of the place sounded too quiet, like there was hardly anyone living here. It kind of smelled. Not of human pee and sex, like some of the other places had, but maybe like chemicals, bug spray and mothballs. The hallways were pea green, their floors black painted wood that was chipped and scratched but clean. The pea green paint did a poor job of covering the graffiti but at least the effort had been made. 

"You wanta apartment? Here?" she asked. 

"We gotta live somewhere, lady. I got cash. My Dad there, he's a little," Dean did the universal cuckoo sign, letting her know that Clarence was crazy. "But we have money and we really need a place to stay."

"Steady money?" she asked. Dean nodded. Then she took him aside, even pulled him into another room, and she asked him, "That man isn't your father, is he?"

Dean couldn't stop himself from shaking his head. 

"Is he hurting you or your brother?"

"Clarence is crazy, but he's okay," Dean said. And because the old lady seemed, not nice, nor particularly sympathetic, but like she was judging him honestly, he let her drag the story out of him, at least part of it, of how both his Mom and Dad were dead, of what Mr. Blake had wanted Sam to do.

She shook her head at that bit and said, "They sent me to St. Luke's home when my mother died. Your Mr. Blake sounds a lot like Father Abernathy. Six hundred deposit, six hundred a month, heat included. Month to month lease. First sign of trouble, you're out."

Dean was glad she wasn't giving them charity, just a chance. He pulled out his wad of cash and started counting out tattered, hard earned cash. 

"You bring your Johns around, you're out. Or a pimp," she said. When he stared at her, she pulled deep on her cigarette and said, "I wasn't born yesterday, sonny. I'm not judging. I just don't want any trouble. You do what you gotta do, but you keep it far from my door." 

Dean didn't bother to say that there'd be no worries of that. He was keeping even the slightest hint of what he did for their money from Sam. He was sure that Sam had to know, but they didn't talk about it and it was going to stay that way. Clarence knew, but since that first night, they hadn't talked about it either. Dean wondered what the woman was thinking, not automatically turning them over to CPS, but she took his pile of bills, counting them rapidly, licking a finger tip every now and then to separate a bill that clung stubbornly to its neighbor. She handed him one twenty back and said, "Six hundred deposit. I'll give you the next week and a half free, but I'll need November's rent by the first."

Then they went out and made a show of having Clarence sign a lease. Their soon to be landlord almost balked when Clarence admitted that he didn't have any form of ID. 

"Not even expired?" she asked.

"I'm not really from around here," Clarence said, blandly, as if that was good enough explanation.

"You some kind of illegal alien?"

"I'm an Angel," he said. "Or rather, I was. I'm human now."

The landlord just sighed and thrust the pen at Clarence and said, "Sign there."

As Clarence looked puzzled at the form in front of him, as if he wasn't even sure how to sign his name, she looked at Dean and he knew what she was trying to convey- that none of this mattered so long as the cash kept flowing, but that if the cash dried up for even a single month, nothing would keep her from evicting them. She was not an unkind woman, but she was a realist and she had learned the same lesson Dean had learned- that it was money that mattered. Money kept you safe. Finally, Clarence made some kind of mark on the paper.

Less than an hour latter, Dean and Sam carried their tattered backpacks and the plastic bags with their blankets into the empty apartment. Clarence had no bag even. Every possession he owned was on his back- his meager clothes and the even more meager contents of his pockets. It was warm in their new place. The steam radiators clanked and hissed, but they were burning hot to the touch. It was warm but dark. There was no electricity in the apartment and there wouldn't be until Dean could earn enough for another deposit. Their landlord explained how they could convince the power company to turn the lights on, but for the moment it seemed like an insurmountable obstacle. Kind of like his plan to get Sam back into school. 

"Things are better, right, Dean?" Sam asked as Dean tucked him into the pile of blankets in front of the radiator in the one bedroom. 

"You bet. We got a place. We're warm. We got food," Dean answered. He thought about the key in his pocket. A key, to a door that they could shut and lock. Sam could be safe behind it. It was all theirs. "You be good for Clarence. I gotta go out."

"His name's really Castiel," Sam said.

"What?"

"Clarence is a fake name," Sam said. "It's the name of that angel in the movie."

"Whatever," Dean said. "He can call himself Lynyrd Skynyrd for all I care, so long as he looks after you and keeps his hands to himself."

Mrs Goebbels, their landlord, was kinder than she would ever let on. When the person in 3 B moved out and left a bunch of their junk, she let them know and let them pick a bunch of stuff out of the left overs, including a big mattress that they dragged into the one bedroom and a couch that was kind of gross, but serviceable when they threw a clean blanket over it. 

When a month passed and they still didn't have electricity, and Dean explained it was because the power company wouldn't take their money because Clarence/Castiel didn't have an id, she looked thoughtful for a moment. The next time he saw her, she pressed a tattered, small blue piece of paper into his hands. Dean spelled out the letters at the top of the card. Social Security.

"A young man applying for an apartment left this behind," she said. "He's got a rotten credit rating, which I didn't help when I took out a credit card out in his name, but your Clarence can use it to get a license."

So slowly they made something approaching a home for Sam. Clarence got an id and they got electricity. They got Sam back into school. Dean found things worked best if they pretended that Clarence didn't speak English. He'd speak some kind of gibberish language then Dean or Sam would 'translate' it for the authorities. Dean supported them all the only way he could and it was just barely enough. But there was a roof over their head, food in their bellies and Sam was catching up with the kids in his new class. It was enough. Dean was satisfied, maybe even a little proud that he was taking care of Sam.

Things were smooth. Or at least as smooth as they could ever get for a kid in his situation.

Until about a month after his twelfth birthday that was, when he started getting sick in the morning, throwing up every day, and he was so tired he could hardly crawl off of the mattress he shared with Sam in the morning. It didn't matter that much, his tiredness. Clarence was the one that walked Sam to school. Dean stayed inside during school hours, so that some do gooder didn't try and drag his ass back to classes, but he liked to get up early, see that Sam started his day right, then crawl back to bed. 

There was this free charity clinic that gave condoms away. That's mostly what Dean had used it for anyway, but he'd brought Sam there once when a cold he'd had faded to a harsh, hacking cough that just wouldn't go away. But mostly Dean would just dart in to grab a handful of the free condoms then try and be gone before he was noticed. Not that he used them all the time. The money the men offered not to use them was just too good to be turned down. 

In April, when he hadn't stopped throwing up every morning for months, the nurse at the clinic desk spoke to him when he grabbed another strip of condoms. "Hey, Dean," she said. "It's Dean, right?"

"Yeah," he said. He hadn't given her either his real last name, nor the name Clarence was using. 

"You okay, Dean?" she asked. "You don't look so hot."

The fact was, he felt like he was about to fall over. He'd thrown up just a bit ago and while he didn't feel like he was going to throw up again, he felt light headed and kind of swimmy, like he was underwater.

"'m good," he said, stuffing the strip of condoms into his pocket, but a moment later, before he even made it out the door, he felt so bad he couldn't keep his feet. He sort of lost balance and things just kind of blurred. He could feel an arm come, seemingly out of nowhere, and wrap around his shoulders, so he didn't fall, but he was guided, first to a chair, then, to one of the exam rooms in the back. Other people who'd been waiting, some of them for hours probably, protested at him getting to jump the line. 

Some woman, a nurse or maybe a doctor, came and gave him a cursory exam. Shined the flashlight in his eyes. Listened to his chest with a cold stethoscope. Took his blood pressure and frowned at what she saw. 

Then she asked, "What's going on with you? You're dehydrated and obviously under-nourished."

"Been throwing up a lot," Dean said. "Don't know why. Been tired too. And I have to pee a lot."

The doctor got a thoughtful look and nodded. She marked things on a clip board. Then she asked, "How many men a day do you see? And do you always make them use condoms?"

Dean was about to panic. These were doctors here. People with power and authority. They could call the cops and CPS. They could have him thrown in jail. He'd seen the cops come round up the Omega hookers on the avenue every now and then. He'd always managed to just slide back into the background before anything happened. If they caught him, they'd take Sam away, put him back into a foster home. 

"Hey, easy," she said. "Breathe, Dean. I'm not going to tell anyone. This is just between you and me. It's called patient doctor confidentiality. I just want to get you the help you need and you'll just melt back into the wood work if I report you, won't you? We see a lot of sex workers like you at this clinic."

"You're not going to call CPS?"

"Not unless you want our help getting help. They have programs that can help you," she said. "You don't have to keep doing what you're doing. No one should have to."

"No, we're not going back to foster care!" Dean said, and even though he felt like death on toast, he tried to get up off the exam table he was lying on. 

The doctor pressed her lips together and gave him a look that said she understood. Dean laid back down when she said, "Must have been one hell of a foster home to make life on the street seem that much better."

"Lady, you got no idea," he said, and she nodded gravely and he thought maybe that she might actually have a pretty good idea. 

"So, you make the men use condoms?" she asked. 

"It's an extra fifty to let them knot me without one," Dean said. "I can't give that up. I have my brother to think about."

"Okay," she said. "I hear that a lot. We can talk more about it later. I want to draw some blood. We can run an STD panel."

STD panel?

She saw him look confused and she said, "You know there are diseases you can catch from having sex without condoms, right?"

He didn't know. He felt sick to his stomach again, that churning, gut wrenching that presaged another vomit. She shoved a basin under his mouth and caught the little bit of liquid he spewed up. She gave him a paper cup of water to rinse his mouth. Then she got down to the business of the exam, asking him questions as she worked. Mostly, she didn't seem surprised at his answers, not when he told her that his mom and dad were both dead, that he took care of his baby brother, but her jaw dropped when Dean gave her his real age. 

"I thought you were more like fifteen or sixteen," she said. "You act like someone much older than you are."

He felt like a million years old. Like he was so tired that he just wanted to lie down and die for a while. Maybe if it weren't for having to take care of Sam, he would have done that. 

"Okay," she said as she got some medical equipment out, clear tubes and a bag. "You're severely dehydrated and that's why you feel so bad. I'm just going to put a bag of fluids in you with some drugs to help you stop throwing up, then we'll see how you're doing. You try and get some rest."

The doctor hooked him up to the IV, sticking him in the crook of the elbow, then hanging up the bag. She left him alone for a moment and he started shivering immediately, feeling chilled from the inside out. She stepped back in the room carrying a blanket which she laid over him, and for a minute, Dean remembered his mom doing that when he was little and he might have cried, but those tear were long dried out of him. 

"That'll feel better. Getting an IV always chills you. We have to store the fluids cold," she said, before leaving him alone for a while and he drifted off to sleep. 

She woke him later when she was taking out the empty IV. 

"Dean?" she asked. "I've got some news for you. You've got some serious decisions to make."

The words she said next didn't change his world as much as he thought it would. Just made his already insupportable load heavier. 

"You're pregnant, Dean."

"But how?" he asked. "I've never gone into heat."

Everyone knew. An Omega couldn't get pregnant unless they were bred in a heat. 

"An Omega doesn't have to go into a full heat in order to get pregnant. If you were in a pre-heat state and been exposed to Alpha semen, then you might have gotten pregnant without ever having gone into heat," she said. "Dean, you don't have to go through this alone. We can help you no matter what you decide to do about the pregnancy. If you decide to keep the baby, there are programs. Or there are other options if you don't want to keep the baby."

"I gotta think," Dean said, and he sat up abruptly. He felt much better than before, his head no longer swimmy. He grabbed his pants and started getting dressed, suddenly noticing it was hard to zip up pants that had been loose to the point of nearly falling off his ass without his belt. The other options she was talking about was killing the baby, he thought, and the thought of that just hurt. There was no way he could support another mouth on what he could pull in, but the baby didn't ask to get put here in the belly of someone who was barely holding it all together as is. The doctor didn't let him go until she'd pressed a whole bunch of pamphlets and vitamin pills on him and he'd made an appointment for the next day. 

He didn't keep it. He took to his bed. Or rather, he wrapped himself in blankets and laid down on the big mattress that still rested right on the floor of their bedroom. He didn't get up that night to go out and work. He didn't get up when Sam begged him or when Clarence stood at the door of the bedroom in silent concern. He got up to drink some water and to go to the bathroom when he had to. Sam brought him food and he pushed it away. 

On the third night, he looked out the window at the buttery yellow street lights and the hard streets of the city around them, the way that the low lying clouds were flaming orange with reflected light. He looked at the little home they'd made for themselves. It wasn't much, just barely habitable by some people's standards, but it was a sign that he could take care of Sam himself. But if he didn't get off this mattress and back onto the street for a couple of hours and earn some money, then it would be taken away from him. Mrs. Goebbels had been clear on that. They were out of here as soon as Dean couldn't pay. 

Dean was weak with not eating but he found his feet, then found his working clothes. He couldn't stand the flashy clothes most Omega hookers wore, but to cruise for customers, he'd changed out his regular t-shirt for a thin, white one with a deep v-neck. He winced at the way his puffy nipples stood out under the fabric. He was going to be making milk soon, he knew. Most Omegas started months before the baby was due. 

Now that he knew, he couldn't help seeing the signs of pregnancy all over his body. The belly that had grown soft. The bladder that demanded attention all the time. The start of breasts, and their much darker nipples. He pulled the flannel overshirt closed over his little breasts and went out to face the world. 

Clarence and Sam were sitting on the awful sofa, eating bowls of mac and cheese, the kind that comes from a box with the orange powder. It looked a little watery, as if it had been made with just the powder packet and milk, no butter. He wondered which one of them had made it. He normally thought of them as being about at the same level of ability to cope with the world, with a slight advantage to Sam when it came to dealing with other people. Sam just about dropped his bowl of food as he bolted to his feet. 

"Dean!" he cried out and looked like he was about to rush Dean and pull him into a hug, but he stopped himself sort, because Dean had taught him pretty well, even at this young age that Alphas didn't do that chick stuff like hugs. And too bad, because Dean thought he could have used one right now. Sam asked, solemnly, "You're okay now?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said. "I'm gonna go out for a while. I'll bring back some real food. Something good."

At that, Sam did hug him, pulled him in tight and squeezed him so hard around the middle that Dean thought he might throw up again. Sam said, "I don't want you to go out."

"I've got to," Dean said, prying his limpet brother off of him. "You gotta stay here and make sure Clarence doesn't burn the place down or something."

"Are you sure it's wise for you to go out so soon again after having been so sick?" Clarence asked. 

Dean didn't say that he thought he needed to go out and earn as much as he could, while he could. He was pretty sure that once his belly popped out big, that there was no way that the men would be stopping their car for him to get in. Maybe if he hustled a lot in the next couple of months, he could set aside enough money so that they could survive when he couldn't earn. What he said was, "Yeah, I gotta go out, so take care of each other. I'll only be a couple of hours."

None of his customers seemed to notice a difference in him that night or for a month or so afterwards. Dean worked the streets as hard as he dared, tucking money away in a secret hiding place he'd found under a loose floorboard. He winced every time he looked in the mirror, seeing his belly grow bigger and getting that round shape. His little tits had started leaking a little, just drips of yellowish fluid. It wouldn't be long before the men wouldn't want him. 

Except that never stopped happening. 

One night, about a month and a half after Dean had found he was pregnant, the man who'd just picked him up, didn't pull into a nearby alley, but said, "We're going to get room. I'm going to enjoy you properly."

It wasn't that none of the men ever got them a room instead of just porking him in their car, but there was something about the way he said it, like Dean was some kind of rare treat. It was kind of weird but the guy seemed harmless enough. Dean waited in the car while the guy got a room. When the guy got back in the car with the keys to the room, he asked, "You making milk yet?"

"What?" Dean asked.

"You're pregnant. Knocked up Omegas make milk," the guy said, then he reached out to squeeze one of Dean's puffy little not-quite boobs. 

"Yeah," Dean admitted. "Just a little."

"How much for the full treatment? Drink your milk. Knot you with no condom. Come in your pussy. The full mate experience. The full nine yards."

Dean named the biggest price he ever had before. One he didn't dream he would get. The guy was some kind of pervert but Dean was going to take advantage of it if he could. The guy pulled out his wallet without any dickering, or trying to get a discount. He pulled out a stack of bills, mostly twenties, and laid them on the dresser. Dean wondered if he'd undercharged.

"Get undressed," the perv said. "All the way."

So Dean stripped, and the perv beckoned. Dean approached him and was taken into the man's arms. The man held Dean tightly, and sniffed him, deeply taking in scent from Dean's underarms and the crook of his neck. "Ah, nothing smells better than a pregnant Omega. Not even an Omega bitch in heat. It's an evolutionary trick to get us to support you in your pregnancy, even if the pup isn't ours. Doesn't matter. You smell amazing. So good."

Then he started licking Dean's nipples, which tickled slightly, but soon the man was tonguing them harder, then sucking on one with a hard mouth and a lot of pressure. The man groaned with pleasure. He must have began getting some milk because the other nipple had started leaking a thin but steady stream of milk. 

Dean hadn't felt the slightest bit of pleasure before at any of the things the men did to him, but this was different. It wasn't a sexual pleasure, he didn't think. It just made him him feel soft and calm. And kind of stupid too, like he could hardly find his thoughts. much less put two words together. He may have moaned a little in pleasure.

The Alpha lifted his head from Dean's nipple and said, "You like this, don't you, bitch? Never knew an Omega bitch that didn't like being milked."

Dean didn't have an answer for that and besides, the Alpha had gone back to suckling. He'd started touching and rubbing Dean's belly, not waiting for permission. "So amazing," he said between sips. "Don't know why its so hot that you've got a pup already. Don't care."

The man must have spent half an hour just rubbing Dean's belly and suckling on his tits. Most of the time, he'd be long gone from the car by now, even when the guy was paying to knot him. Somehow, Dean didn't mind. It felt good to have his nipples sucked on, like it was relieving a pressure he hadn't realized had been there. Or a pain he hadn't been aware he'd had. 

Then the man rolled Dean over onto his stomach, manhandled him up to his knees, so that Dean's chest pressed down to the mattress, his ass up in the air. That was okay. That seemed to be the favored position of an alpha with knotting on his mind. The man mounted him and moment later, Dean's pussy was full of huge cock. Huge cock with the start of a knot at the base already. Any pleasure, any sense of well-being that remained from earlier was gone by now. The man thrust so hard that his body made these slapping noises as it hit Dean's, a big, meaty kind of sound and for a moment, Dean was a little afraid for the baby, that the man's cock might dislodge it somehow. Even if Dean didn't want a baby to take care of, that didn't mean he wanted it to get hurt. Luckily, it didn't take long before the man's thrusts were ragged and rapid, the man's cock growing harder and inside. Dean was experienced enough to know that meant the man would be coming soon and that he was nearly done. Men talked about how they were going to knot him for hours, but in practice, it was a rare man who stayed hard for longer than twenty minutes. The perv was not an exception. His hips juddered a moment later and he moaned loudly, right into Dean's ear, so loud it almost hurt. His knot was jammed up tight into Dean's pussy and Dean could feel the warm gush of come inside him. 

Then they laid together on their sides, the man stuck inside Dean. He kept stroking Dean's belly, touching the baby. 

"Such a shame, really," the man said. "I doubt you planned that baby. Probably don't know how you're going to take care of it, young as you are. And then there's my wife. It's not her fault Beta women are so unreliably fertile, yet she wants a baby so bad, she'd do anything for one. We've got so much to give a baby. Nice house out in the suburbs in a great school district. We can afford for Karen to stay home."

Dean suddenly got the idea that the man was angling to buy his baby. 

This was confirmed a moment later when the perv said, "It's technically illegal to buy a baby, but we can give you living and medical expenses. We could afford to be very generous with those. Very generous. Say, ten thousand a month for each month of pregnancy you have left."

There was no way that Dean was going to trust this pervert with any baby of his, but the seed of an idea was planted in Dean. 

"My baby's not for sale," Dean said. Then thought, not to you anyway. 

It was a really awkward next twenty or so minutes they spent with the man's knot rooted deep into Dean's cunt. Dean could have made the guy pull out. They weren't actually tied together. Dean hadn't been turned on at all. His internal parts hadn't swollen up, locking the guy's knot into place. Nothing inside Dean was grabbing at him. He could get up, get dressed and get out of here at any point, but Dean didn't want to do that. He always let the alphas get soft naturally. He wanted them to feel they were getting good value for their money. Before long, the guy went limp and then slid out of Dean's pussy. The perv got out of bed and got dressed again.

"I only rented the room for four hours. Don't fall asleep," he said. 

That wasn't a problem. Dean was simmering with a strange, nervous energy. He hopped out of bed the instant the perv had pulled the door shut behind him with a thud and a click. He grabbed the bundle of cash and counted it quickly. Five hundred. More than Dean had bargained for. He'd never made this kind of bank in a single night before. He could go home right after this. 

He scurried home and crawled into bed with Sam, not waking him, but the little boy seemed to naturally turn towards him, like a sunflower to the sun. When Dean rolled over, so that he was sleeping on his side, belly away from Sam, his brother scooted closer, right up against Dean's back, the big spoon, even though he was still so much smaller than Dean. Hard to imagine that this tiny, pudgy-bodied little child would some day be a huge, strong Alpha. Dean sighed and tried to sleep. From the living room, Dean could hear the quiet, steady snore of Clarence from where he was sleeping on the couch. Dean touched his own belly, rubbing it all over, as if he could wipe away the touches it had experienced earlier tonight. 

He wondered what his baby was going to be, boy or girl, alpha or omega, but he realized it didn't matter. He couldn't keep it, no matter what he might want. They were surviving, just barely. They were kept afloat by the money Dean earned, but just barely. Another mouth to feed would be the tipping point. Not to mention the time he would have to take off to take care of the infant, because it was one thing for Sam and Clarence to watch each other, but there was no way he could leave either of them in charge of a tiny little baby. Even if he could make the kind of money he'd made tonight every night and stashed every penny away, he couldn't take months and month off from his work. 

He must have fallen asleep eventually, because he woke up in the bright sunlight, warm and feeling rested. Sam was gone and there were none of the usual soft but clumsy sounds Clarence would make during the day time as he puttered around the apartment, trying to be useful. Dean checked the clock and he'd slept until nearly noon. Clarence definitely should have been back from taking Sam to school. 

Dean rolled out of bed when the baby did a little dance on top of his bladder and it became a need of utmost urgency to empty it. Afterwards, Dean savored the apartment to himself for a while, the quiet of it. He used the time alone to deal with the big wad of cash from last night. He added almost all of the bills to the stash of them under the floorboard, his savings for the time that was surely coming when he wouldn't be able to work. He was afraid to take them all out and count them, to see how little he had saved up, so he didn't. He closed up the floorboard again then shoved the mattress back over it. 

When Clarence did finally return to the apartment, it was in the later afternoon, with Sam at his side. 

"I was out seeking employment," Clarence said. "I believe I may have found a position. The owner of the convenience store on 95th and Martin Luther King Drive is looking for someone to work from ten in the evening to five in the morning."

Part of Dean felt pathetically grateful. Clarence was trying to help. Dean wouldn't have to go out and sell himself, let perverts suck on his tits and inflate their knots in his unresponsive pussy. He could stay home at night and he could have his baby. Then he woke up to reality. 

"Sam," Dean said. "Go to the bedroom and do your homework."

Sam seemed like he was going to protest, but when he looked at Dean, he just shut his mouth and went into the other room. Only then did Dean round on Clarence, "You have a job. I need you at home so I can go out and earn some real money."

"I thought that if I found some employment, you would not need to go out and engage in intercourse for money."

"How much you think you can earn at this job?"

"At the rate he would be paying me, I estimated I could earn two hundred and fifty a week," Clarence said. "I know our rent is six hundred, but that would leave two hundred a month for food and other things."

There was no way the three of them could survive a whole month on that kind of money for everything but rent. Maybe they could all eat for that much, but there'd be no power, no money for other bills. No extras for Sam. 

"I can earn that much in a single night," Dean said, and he could, assuming he could find someone to knot him without a condom. If he could find more perverts like the one from last night, he could earn a lot more than that. "If you can find something you can do when Sam is in school, fine, but otherwise, I go out and work and you stay with Sam. That's my final word."

Who'd have thought in a house with an Alpha and a grown up Beta, at least Dean assumed Clarence was a Beta, the head of the household would be a twelve year old Omega? But Clarence and Sam always listened to Dean. Sam, Dean could understand that, being as Dean had always been the big brother. But why would an adult Beta look to Dean like he had some authority? Like he was in charge. Part of Dean yearned for Clarence to take charge. To act like the grown up he supposedly was and put his foot down about Dean going out to the streets to earn money. He wanted someone to take care of him, instead of him being the care taker. But most of Dean was just glad that Clarence would shut his trap and pretty much do as Dean told him. 

Oddly, what Clarence said, barely audibly, but Dean caught the low, rumbly tone. "You never did think you deserved to be saved."

Then the discussion was over, like so many were. They fell into the category of things they just didn't talk about- like where Dean got the money he supported them with, that Dean was pregnant, where the baby had come from and where it was going to be going. He had a quite visible and obvious baby belly. Sam had to have figured out Dean was pregnant, and even Clarence couldn't be so crazy and oblivious as to not know, but neither of them had said anything. 

Dean kept going out at night. Clarence never did take a job, though he riffled through the want ads in the newspaper all the time. Nights grew into weeks. Weeks ganged up together and months passed faster than Dean could even comprehend. He'd stashed a big chunk of cash under the floorboards. He seemed to find some pervert every night who wanted to knot a pregnant kid, suck milk out of his tits, rub his belly. There was a lot of money in pregnant sex and Dean was stashing as much of it as he could, but the power bill was a lot. And he wanted to dress Sam in something other than things stolen from thrift store bins. Sam went to school, and grown ups in authority looked at him. They noticed things like threadbare and stained clothes. Dean wasn't going to give them any excuse to look closer at Sam's family arrangements, because they were about as sturdy as the cardboard box they didn't have to live in any longer. 

Dean's big opportunity came along in about the sixth month of his pregnancy. Spring was almost over, school almost out. Dean went out one night, as usual, and a very nice car pulled up to where he stood on a corner on the outskirts of the red light district. It was a big Lincoln, black, with tinted windows. The front passenger window rolled down smoothly and a smarmy looking man with a nice suit and thinning hair said, in a buttery voice, with an English accent, "Perhaps I could have a little of your time."

"Two hundred to knot me, any extras cost more," Dean said. 

"Oh, for nothing quite so vulgar as that," the man said. "My tastes run a good bit older and more Alpha than you."

It was only then that Dean realized that the man behind the wheel of the Lincoln was Omega like him. He turned to go but hesitated a moment, curious, wondering what the guy could want from him if it wasn't sex. 

"I thought we might have a frank discussion about that belly of yours," the man said. "I'll pay you for your time. Perhaps we could adjourn to that restaurant over there and discuss some business? My name is Crowley. Fergus Crowley."

Though Dean had climbed into more cars with strange men than he could count, there was something dangerous seeming about this Omega, something that automatically set Dean's teeth on edge and raised his hackles. Dean started backing away.

"Two hundred, just to talk. For an hour. We'll meet over there, at the Chicken and Waffle House. You don't need to get into my car. I understand."

"I'll be there in five minutes," Dean said, and started walking. By the time he got there, the sleazy Omega was already settled into one of the orange vinyl covered booths with a cup of coffee. Dean struggled to get into the tight space, but his belly just got in the way. Luckily, the table at the booth wasn't fixed into place, so Crowley adjusted it for Dean. 

"Get whatever you want. I'm buying," Crowley said, pushing one of the clear plastic covered menus at Dean. Then he pulled two bills out of his pocket and pushed them across the table at Dean, two hundred dollar bills. Dean shoved them into his jeans pocket. The waitress came. Dean ordered way more food than he intended to eat, figuring he could take it home for later. 

"You paid me. So talk," Dean said, after the plates were set in front of him. He picked at the bacon waffle, but left the fried chicken and biscuits alone.

"As I said, I'm Fergus Crowley," the Omega said. "I'm a lawyer."

"I've never been arrested," Dean said, confused. 

"Not that kind of lawyer," Crowley said. "I specialize in adoption. There are a lot of Beta couples that would pay any amount to adopt a healthy baby. I connect those couples with young, in trouble Omegas like you, in a way that allows everyone to walk away with something they want or need."

"Selling babies is illegal," Dean said. 

"A great many things are illegal," Crowley said. "However, think of it this way. You're what, fourteen?"

"Twelve."

"Jesus," Crowley said, shaking his head. "You're twelve. Practically a baby yourself. Taking care of yourself must be hard enough. Now, no Omega wants to give a baby up, but you can understand that you can't offer a baby much. There are Beta couples. They may have tried for years to have a baby, already spent untold thousands on fertility treatments, only to fail. They try to adopt only to be told there are no available infants. You have a baby you can't possibly take care of and they will pay through the nose for a healthy newborn. I arrange a private adoption. They pay rather a large sum for fees, costs, expenses. I take my portion off the top and the rest is yours for medical expenses, living costs, the like. Let's say forty-thousand for you, forty-thousand for me. That's about average for one of my transactions. Maybe a little more, if you're carrying a Beta boy."

"Not more if its an Alpha?"

"Good Lord, no," Crowley said. "Beta couples want a little boy who's going to be just like his daddy, right down to the way his manhood looks. A girl is good too, of course, even a sweet little Omega who can guarantee they'll have grandchildren down the road. But an Alpha male is the last choice for a Beta couple. Do you know what you're having yet?"

Dean shook his head.

"Have you had any prenatal care at all?" Crowley asked. He just sighed, but didn't seem surprised at Dean shake of the head. "And you've been seeing clients all along? Bareback. Don't bother answering. I know how this goes. Look, before we come to any agreement, at the very least, you'll need to have a STD panel run. I know a doctor, she runs a free clinic around here. For a generous donation on my part, she sees boys in situations like yours. Eat up and I'll give her a call, see if can see us tonight. You are going to take my deal, aren't you?"

There really wasn't any question about it.

An hour later, Dean was walking into the neighborhood free clinic, the one he used to get condoms for free from, before they'd told him he was pregnant. He hadn't dared step inside it since he'd skipped the follow up appointment they'd forced him to make. It was mostly dark, but the doctor who'd told him he was pregnant let them in.

"Oh! Dean!" she said, her face dropping. "We were so worried about you. We'd hoped."

She didn't say what she'd hoped for. Obviously it wasn't that he would be here, getting a preliminary inspection prior to selling his baby. And she seemed to take his silence as some kind of accusation. She obviously felt dirtied by her dealings with Crowley. She said, defensively, "We'd probably have to shut our door except for Mr. Crowley's donations. He makes it possible for us to treat hundreds of people a month."

"I'm a regular pillar of the community," Crowley said. "Now, Dean here hasn't had one bit of prenatal care. Our goal, of course, is a healthy baby. We'll want to start with the standard panel."

Not long after that, Dean was on his back, in one of those gowns, bare underneath. He'd been poked and prodded, swabbed and had his belly measured. She'd taken blood. Finally, the doctor had slathered his belly with gel and was running the wand thing over it. The picture that came up on the screen looked very blotchy to Dean, hardly like a baby at all, but the doctor seemed to know what she was looking at. She showed him something that was supposed to be his baby's heartbeat. Then she was wiping off his belly and she said, "Beta boy, healthy to all appearances, slightly small for his gestational age, but not worryingly so. Looks good."

Crowley smiled and said, "Excellent. I couldn't be more pleased to hear that your baby is doing well, Dean. Are the panel results going to be ready soon?"

She left to go work on those and Crowley started talking again, "Now, assuming you don't have anything incurable and deadly, we have a deal."

"You said more if it was a Beta boy," Dean said. "I want fifty thousand."

Actually, Dean had no idea if a beta boy was worth that much extra more to Crowley.

"Forty-two," Crowley said. 

"Forty-eight."

"Forty-four. You're killing me, Dean," Crowley said.

"I've had better offers than yours," Dean said, and he had, but not from anyone who he'd be willing to give a baby to.

"From the sort of pervert who knocked you up in the first place, I warrant," Crowley said. "Speaking of which, do you have any idea who the father is?"

"No clue," Dean said. "One of my clients."

"Not that it matters," Crowley said. "In this state, a man has forty-eight hours to object to an adoption if he thinks he's the father. Now, do you have a place to stay? Is there some pimp who's going to come looking for you? Which is not an insurmountable obstacle, but it is nice to have some warning."

"Me and my brother Sam, we have a place," Dean said. "No pimp."

"A place? Are we talking an actual place or some squalid squat without heat or plumbing? Because I can rent you an apartment for the duration, if necessary."

"A real place. An apartment," Dean said. 

"I'll want to come by and take a look. You understand. I'm just looking after my investment here," Crowley said. "Once we enter this agreement, I'll be paying you an allowance, call it a payment for your exclusive service. I don't want you seeing clients and risking the baby. If you do have sex for recreational purposes, I expect you will use condoms."

The doctor came back into the room. She seemed a little relieved, but still upset. "Bad news first. You've got chlamydia and gonorrhea. It's very important we treat both because they can cause problems with your baby, Dean. But they are treatable. We'll get you on antibiotics right away."

"And the good news?" Crowley asked. 

"No signs of hep B or C, HIV, syphilis, herpes, or HPV. We get him started on antibiotics and follow up to make sure he's treated effectively, both he and the baby will be just fine."

"Do we have a deal for forty-three, Dean?"

"For forty-six we do."

"Forty-five, last offer."

"Deal."

 

***

There were three events in Sam's life that had an enormous impact, changing it forever, in ways not for the better. One of them, Sam didn't remember at all, but he'd heard about it. His mother had died in a fire when he was six months old. That had sent his Dad spiraling off into a life of crime, or that's what Sam had overheard the social worker telling one of their foster parents. The second, Sam didn't remember clearly. That had been the day when his Dad went away and never came back. They'd huddled in their motel room without food for as long as they could, but then the manager had come to clean out the room after John Winchester had failed to pay the bill and he'd discovered the boys. There'd been a police car, Sam remembered and the first of many social workers they'd dealt with over the years. When their dad had been found dead, with a car trunk full of weapons, it had been made permanent.

The third event Sam had set into motion and he couldn't have anticipated what happened. If he'd known the results of his words, he wouldn't have said anything. He would have just put up with things the way they were. Sam was anything but innocent or stupid. When Mr. Blake had come to his bed the night before their last morning as anyone's children, Sam had known what he wanted. No one had approached him before, but Sam had seen things done to Dean and known somehow that Dean was allowing them to be done to protect Sam. So when Mr. Blake had come to his bedroom and asked for those things, Sam had played stupid, acting as if he didn't know why Mr. Blake had wanted him to put his mouth on his peepee. He knew, the next morning, that when he told Dean something would happen. What he hadn't anticipated was the way that so much anger, then fear, had flared up in Dean's eyes. Then they had just gotten very hard and cold, like something dead. 

When they came up to their school and Sam had tried to turn onto the path up to the door, Dean had grabbed his hand so hard it hurt and dragged Sam away. They'd walked to the downtown area and never gone back to the Blake's. It'd been a hard summer and fall. There had never been enough food. There were adults and bigger boys they'd had to hide from. They'd had all their money they'd worked so hard to beg and cheat for stolen from them. The only defense they had had was hiding and they'd hid in dangerous, abandoned buildings. Despite that, Sam had seen things. Drug deals. He'd seen a teenage girl suck off man after man, on her knees in the corner of an empty lot. Ten bucks a head. Her eyes had been vacant, so empty that she might not have even been there. It was like she was some kind of head giving robot. He'd seen other kids trade sex for money, though none so blatantly. 

So the night that they'd had only half a block of ramen each and in his hunger and weakness, he thought he'd be happy to go back to the Blake's and let the man do what he wanted, just so that they could have a good, hot meal and a warm place to stay. He'd said so. That was the first night Dean had gone out and come back with food and money he could only have gotten one way. They never talked about it, but Sam wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what Dean was going out and doing. He might not have been stupid, but he was cowardly enough, fearful enough of going hungry again, to not try and stop Dean from doing it. 

Once, he had been stupid enough to suggest that he could go out with Dean and help him do whatever it was that he did to earn money when he went out at night. All it had earned him was a shove from Dean and Dean shouting at him, "Don't you ever talk about what I do when I go out at night! Don't you ever think you can go out with me!"

That had been the night that Sam had started praying hard for help. Just over a month later, Clarence had appeared, like an angel, and thing had gotten a little better. They were able to stay indoors, in real places, the grubby, awful motel rooms at first, but then the apartment that was still awful and smelly, but was at least theirs. Dean kept going out at night, if anything, he was out for longer, working harder. Dean came back looking beaten a few times, with black eyes and the like. Sam almost was glad when that happened, because then Dean would stay in a few days and Sam could almost imagine that he would stop going out. But he never did. 

Now, Dean was pregnant. Sam hadn't been brave enough to ask him about it, but Dean's belly grew big and round. He'd gotten strangely silent at time, broody, Castiel/Clarence had said. They were talking sitting on the cruddy sofa covered with a quilt so they couldn't see the stains, one night when Dean was out, earning the money that kept them sheltered and fed. He never let Dean see it, because he knew somehow that it would upset Dean, but he was snuggled up close to Castiel.

"He's always gotten that way at times, never wanted to talk about things when they went badly," Castiel had said. "He's always taken far too much responsibility and burden on his shoulders."

Castiel was funny, both ha-ha and odd funny. He talked about Dean and Sam as if they were grown ups and stranger still, as if they were both Betas. Or rather, just males. He said that where he and these grown up Dean and Sam he had known had come from, there were just men and women, and only women had babies. Men never had babies. 

"He's having a baby," Sam had said. "I don't want him going out and doing what he does. The baby is going to get hurt. He's already gotten hurt."

"Dean has always been extraordinarily stubborn. I know him. I built him from the bones up."

"You know your Dean," Sam said. 

"And this one is so very much the same, Sam," Castiel said. "So very much the same. I wish I still what I once was. I'm weak now. Useless."

"Me too," Sam said. "He won't listen to us at all, will he?"

"Very unlikely," Castiel said. 

Because there was nothing more to be said about it, Sam changed the subject. "Tell me the story again, about your Sam and Dean, about how they started and stopped the end of the world."

As always, Sam giggled when Castiel got to the part about calling his brother an assbutt. He wasn't stupid and he wasn't innocent. He was, however, just seven years old and to him, the word assbutt was comedy gold. 

He must have drifted off in the re-telling of the story, because suddenly it was morning and the sun was flooding into the bedroom that Sam shared with Dean. Sam checked the clock. He was getting good at reading the time, even on the old kind of clock with the hour and minute hands. It wasn't quite seven o'clock. Still plenty of time for him to get to school on time. Not that anyone seemed to notice when Sam was late. The school was kind of irregular. He didn't know better, to know that it was just another struggling, inner city school, with underpaid, overwhelmed teachers, outdated textbooks and too many students shoved into its small classrooms. All he knew was that he had been put into the third grade, based on his test scores and that the boy Peter, who sat next to him was an ten year-old who'd repeated both first and second grades, who couldn't read even simple words, but who wasn't being held back any more. Still, any school was better than no school. 

Dean was deeply, soundly asleep and Sam moving around didn't seem to wake him up at all. Dean's face seemed kind of sticky or something and his lashes clumped together. Sam wondered if Dean had cried himself to sleep again. He sometimes did that when he didn't think Sam was looking. Sometimes Sam even wondered if Dean was aware he was crying, because the tears would slip down his cheeks, but the expression on Dean's face would hardly change and he wouldn't make a sound. Just single, perfectly shaped tears, sliding down. 

Sam tiptoed out of the room and got Castiel, who still slept on the sofa, up and together, they got ready to get Sam to school. Sam didn't need to eat breakfast at home. Almost every student at his school qualified for free lunches and free breakfasts, a government program, they said. The school just served it to everyone, regardless. Afterwards, his school day started particularly rockily. It was just writing practice, but it was close to Mother's Day, so they were told to write an essay on their mom. Sam just stared at the blue lined paper and number two pencil. He thought about writing about what he knew about his mother, how she'd died in a fire when he was baby, how the variety of foster mothers he'd had, how they hadn't done anything to stop their husbands from touching his brother, but he knew that would attract attention and Dean had hammered into him again and again, not to attract attention. That even with Castiel posing as the person responsible for them, they could get taken back by social services and sent back to the Blakes' house. 

Eventually, the teacher noticed that Sam wasn't writing and she asked him why. "I don't have a mother," he said. "My parents are both dead."

She knew. She'd been told, but obviously, she didn't remember.

"Then write about your foster mother," she snapped. 

"I'm not in foster care," Sam said. "I don't have a foster mother."

"Oh, that's right. You live with your...cousin, is it?"

"My Uncle Vadim," Sam said. Vadim Krushnic was the name belonging to the social security number they were using. It was his identity that they were stealing. 

"Then just write about your family. Three paragraphs, fill the page."

Sam longed to write the truth about his family, about Dean. He ached to talk about the things Dean did to support him and "Uncle Vadim". He wanted to tell about how much Dean cried when he thought he was completely alone. He wanted to talk about how Dean had taken him away from the importuning hands of Mr. Blake and their summer and fall on the streets. He wanted to tell the truth about his life, to let the words fall out onto the page honestly. He wanted to be brave, but he knew that right now, it would only get them taken away from Castiel and put back in foster care. He knew he didn't even dare mention Dean, because Dean wasn't in school when he should be. Instead, Sam made something up whole cloth, the only bit of truth it had in it was his own name. He finished three perfect paragraphs by the time most of the kids in the class were scratching their way through their first paragraph, so he surreptitiously brought out another sheet of paper and he started writing what he wanted to write. Rather than write about his family, he wrote about the other Sam and Dean, Castiel's Sam and Dean, the grown up them, who fought Angels, Demons and other monsters. When class writing time was over, he crumpled it up into a tiny ball intending to throw it out. He jammed it into the front pocket of his jeans and forgot about it.

 

***

Dean met up with the lawyer Crowley a few days later, again at the Chicken and Waffle House. 

"You've been taking your antibiotics, like a good boy?" Crowley asked, first thing. 

It was about time for it anyway, so Dean brought out the pill bottle and shook one out into his hand, then swallowed it in front of Crowley. Then he displayed the bottle so that Crowley could see that it was almost empty. Dean had been taking the pills almost religiously. The doctor had been very clear about that and about finishing all the pills. 

"So, I've determined which lucky couple will be adopting your baby," Crowley said. "They want to meet you, before the birth."

"You allow that?" Dean asked. He'd have thought the baby would just be whisked away from him right after birth, without him having any idea of what kind of situation he was being sold into.

"The people who utilize my services, they don't like to think they're doing anything so vile as buying a baby. They want the full adoption experience, just like I'm sure some of your other clients have wanted the full Omega mate experience."

Dean felt ill at that, but he told himself it was just the pregnant stomach and the smell of fried things blending with coffee. "Yeah, okay. So, when do I meet them?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. My office. I'll send a car for you at noon. That's a little early, so I can coach you with your story, clean you up a bit. You're a little scruffy for the scenario I have in mind."

Dean looked down at himself. Crowley was kind of right. Dean hadn't lucked into any maternity clothes his size at the charity thrift shop. He wore his usual jeans, now torn at the knees, and just unbuttoned under his belly. He'd found some oversized t-shirts and wore them, along with a couple of layers of flannel and other long sleeved shirts. The clothes were clean. Dean was very careful about that, but you couldn't disguise the fact that that they were very, very worn and ill-fitting.

Even so, Dean defensively said, "What's wrong with the way I look?"

"Do you even have another pair of jeans?" Crowley asked. "Do I need to take you shopping? No, don't bother answering. We'll go after you eat."

"Why does it matter what I look like? It's the baby they want, not me."

"Because, dear child, these people are going to be paying rather a very large amount of money for a product, which as I told you earlier, is not strictly the baby. They want the whole experience. They want to believe that they are giving your baby a better life, but they also don't want a baby that comes from a homeless streetwalker, which is what you look like at the moment."

"I'm not homeless!" Dean said, fiercely. He had worked so hard to make this so. 

"Of course you aren't, but appearances matter," Crowley said. "Eat up."

Dean tried to eat, but some days were better food days than others and this was not one of the better ones. Everything on his plate, other than the fruit garnish and his toast, made his gullet rise when he tried to put it in his mouth. 

"So," Crowley said, as Dean nibbled carefully on his toast. "Steven and Cathy Mueller are going to be the proud parents of that little bundle under your shirt. Steven is the heir to a local grocery store chain that just sold out to a much larger regional chain and is, as they say, rolling in it. Cathy is in real estate, successful in her own right, but prepared to dial it down a notch to stay home with your baby for a few years. Steven is a member of the Rotary Club and a golfer. Cathy is Junior League and sweater sets with pearls."

"Are they good people?" Dean asked.

"That is a question that I am unable to answer. They're normal people, but then that doesn't mean anything, does it, Dean? The Blakes were normal people."

Dean nearly dropped his toast and ran. How could Crowley know about the Blakes?

Crowley had seen the shattered, about to flee look on Dean's face and said, "Any attorney worth his salt does due diligence. Sam, Dean, both common names, but together as brothers? It wasn't hard to find. You must not be aware of it, but you were in the news briefly for a while some weeks back. The Blakes were both arrested after it finally came out that you were missing. It seems they never reported you missing to the police or social services, lied to the school about enrolling you in a private school and kept cashing the government checks. It probably would have slipped through the cracks indefinitely, except a social worker decided it was time to check up on you and paid the Blakes a surprise visit."

"They got arrested?"

"For fraud and neglect of minors. There was some talk about whether the Blakes had murdered you and your brother, but the police decided there wasn't any evidence of that."

"How much do you know?"

"Enough. Dean Winchester. Born, Lawrence, Kansas, January 24, 1979, to John and Mary Winchester. Your mother Mary was killed in a house fire, which investigators believed was set to cover up her murder. Her father, when he was alive, was the head of the Campbell family, the most notorious manufacturers and distributors of crystal meth in all of Kansas and it's believed she was caught in the middle of a gang war between the Campbell family and its rivals- a gang known as the Demons. After her death, it seems that your father, John Winchester, started his own vigilante drug war, intending to take down both the Demons and the Campbell family. It is known for sure he was found dead in Mill Race State Park, evidence of this little war all over his car. He was a hero in his own way. A notebook found in his car provided enough evidence to imprison most of the Campbell family and the Demons. Unable to locate anyone from your father's family and with most of your mother's family heading to the federal penitentiary for fifteen to twenty, the authorities had no choice but to place you in foster care. You bounced around the system for several years before deciding to drop out of it. What happened that was so bad you thought walking the streets seemed like a better deal? Mr. Blake diddle you one too many times?"

"He wanted Sam too," Dean said, his voice catching. Even now, the thought of that man's hands on Sam was enough to mess him up. "He promised me he wouldn't touch Sam if I let him do anything he wanted."

Crowley seemed to think about that for a moment, then he said, "Well, better a whore on your own terms. Shall we buy you some maternity clothes?"

Crowley bought him two pairs of jeans with a stretchy panel over the belly and about four smock like tops to wear with them. It'd been hell, trying to find something that wasn't awful. The pregnancy clothes intended for Omegas were feminine and childish. Dean had seen a t-shirt with pink lace arms and 'Baby on Board' written in loopy, cursive script on the chest. There was another one with a print of a bunny pushing a kitten in a baby buggy. And that was in the Omega section. 

 

***

Dean was staying home at night now. Sam didn't understand why, but he was just grateful that it was so and he didn't question it. The money still seemed to be coming in. The rent was still paid to their landlord, in grubby stacks of bills, handed over in an envelope at the first of every month and the power stayed on. Food arrived in their kitchen. Dean was even seeing a doctor because of the baby. Sam didn't know a lot about babies and how they arrived in the world, but he knew from the tv shows that you had to see a doctor a lot and they did this thing called an ultrasound that told you the sex of the baby. Sam wasn't quite brave enough to ask Dean what kind of baby he was having. Or where they were going to put the baby when it arrived. 

Their apartment was pretty small. He and Dean took the small bedroom. Castiel took the sofa in the living room. There definitely wasn't room for a crib or any other stuff that babies needed. None of which seemed to be arriving in their apartment anyway. No preparations were being made for the baby. Sam wasn't about to ask about that. Once, a few weeks back, Sam had innocently asked Dean what he was going to name the baby. Dean's whole face had clouded over and for a minute, Sam had thought it was that same rage he'd seen on the day he'd proposed to go out streetwalking with Dean. He prepared to be pushed or hit. Instead, Dean had crumpled and started weeping and could not or would not be comforted. 

Later, Castiel had taken him aside later and said, "I do not believe it is your brother's intention to raise his child himself. I overheard him discussing the matter with our land lady. She was letting him know that we would have to leave our apartment, because we already have too many occupants than is legal. Dean said he intends to place the child for adoption."

Dean was giving up his baby? Why would he do that? Especially when it seemed to hurt him so much. Sam didn't ask about the baby any more. They all pretended, as much as they could, that Dean wasn't pregnant, as if there weren't a baby coming. Eventually, Dean went away to the hospital for a few days. When he returned, he wasn't pregnant any more, though his stomach was still soft. His eyes were glassy and unfocused most of the time. He didn't talk, not a peep, not a word, not even to Sam, for over six weeks. He once handed wads of cash to Castiel for their bills, but mostly it was like how Sam imagined living with a ghost would be. 

The only good part was that Dean didn't go out at night for over two months. 

***

Dean was pregnant again and very nearly at his due date. Pregnant for the fourth time in six years. He was eighteen now and Sam was fourteen. He'd popped his knot for the first time last year and he was growing so fast it scared him, so fast his bones ached. Puberty had hit hard and his voice cracked and croaked like a frog in its uneven descent to a lower register. Sam had grown taller than Dean sometime in the last six months and he was getting broader as well, stronger. 

Somehow, more now than ever, comparing their bodies, Sam became aware of the sacrifices Dean made for him. Other than the bulging, pregnant belly, Dean was slender, almost worryingly so. He was short, much shorter than he should have been. Sam had found out from a book he'd read that Omegas pretty much didn't grow any taller once they'd gotten pregnant for the first time. It was like their bodies never fully matured after that. Anyone looking at them now would assume that Sam was the big brother. His height and maturity were such that many people assumed he was much older than he was. He'd been approached before, by guys who were obviously in gangs, who wanted him, wanted to give him a gun and a job selling drugs on the street. He'd remained above the fray. His test scores had gotten him a place in a magnet high school in a neighborhood far away from this one. He got on the bus an hour before school started and rode it nearly to the end of its route. He got most of his homework done on the bus too and from school. He was on the junior varsity basketball team and the coach was talking about moving him to the varsity team next year. It wasn't that he liked the sport. He was thinking about scholarships. People from his part of town didn't win scholarships based on their grades, even if they had a good shot at valedictorian, like he did. They got sports scholarships if they got anything. Sam would do anything to get a scholarship of any kind.

As for Dean, his high school years had been spent having babies he couldn't keep and letting strange Alphas stick their knots in him for cash. He no longer walked the streets at least. He'd found some service who organized outcalls for him. He carried a pager. He'd disappear for a couple of hours at a time, mostly in the evenings, but also at other times of day too. They still didn't ever talk about the fact that Dean supported them all with money he earned on his back. It drove Sam crazy. Dean might not have been a street walker any more, might have been a callboy instead, but he was still was a prostitute, and given the number of times he'd been pregnant, one that didn't use condoms. Sam feared for his brother and was furious at him most of the time. It wasn't just the babies. He feared that one day his brother would tell him he'd picked up HIV and he was dying. Or that Dean just wouldn't come home from one of those outcalls.


End file.
